Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Random Stories & Thoughts

This is probably the longest post in blogger history, but it’s just a few random thoughts, and some of our plans for the next few days. Read it through to the end or don’t. I won’t ever know the difference.

A few days ago, Duke woke up from a nap and Gracelyn told me she thought he had “the rabies”. His legs and arms had a red “rash”, but it was actually the pattern of the sofa fabric where he’d been sleeping. Thank you very much, “the rabies”.

Gracelyn also thinks that the word “titties” is “tibbies”, and bastard is “pastar” (Thank you, Austin Powers). Neither of which is acceptable for her to say, but it’s still funny.

This morning when driving the girls to school, Violet started whining, “Mommmmyyyy! Gimme it! Gimme my we-tahd!!!” It sound like she was saying one of the very few words I won’t say…you know….derogatory term for mentally challenged. Again and again she yelled, almost crying, but still insisting I give her the we-tahd. After a few minutes of listening to her waller, I turned around and saw what she was pointing to. Her sister’s purse, in the shape of a GUITAR. I laughed and said, “Violet, can you say ‘gi-gi-GUI-tar?!” She replied with, “Yep! Weeeee-taaaaaahd.” Guess she told me!

I stopped in the church office this morning after taking the girls to their classes, to print out our boarding passes for the flight. I was holding Duke in my lap at the time. He decided he’d had enough waiting, so he puked on me. Twice. A lot. No big deal…this is my fourth kid, and honestly…what’s a day without puke? Or artwork on the walls? Or a package of red kool-aid opened in the back of the car and mixed with spit to “paint” on the seat? (That piss doesn’t come out! It literally looks like I carried a dead deer back there.) Or a concussion? (Violet had her 2nd concussion in less than 6 months last week, thanks to the jury-rigged “safety net” at Dairy Queen not keeping her out of the wrong area…so she climbed to the top of the outside of the slide, and jumped. I’d say it was about 10 feet in the air, and she landed flat on her back. I was in the room! I couldn’t get her out, because the stupid area was too small for me to get in. Even Gracelyn couldn’t fit back there, but leave to Violet – a.k.a Evil Knievil Jr. – to figure out how. I think we’ll be making her a helmet soon!) I digress. So Duke puked on my hand. A few hours later we’re in the car on our way to Dallas, and I rub my hand by my face…and smelled….baby puke. Apparently? It’s *real* hard to clean out of the crevices of a ring.

So I’m looking out the airplane, and wondering about all sorts of questions I’ll forget to ask myself when we land. For instance…what are all these circles on the ground? I’m guessing they’re crops of some sort, that would make sense….but crops of what? And how do they plant them in a super-cool perfect circle? With a monster pointy-thingy that you used in Geometry to draw circles with? Secondly: There are TONS of these little “driveways” with squares of dirt at the very end. From up here it looks like a community of gophers or prairie dogs, but I have NO IDEA what they are…and this is the crap that will keep me up at night. *If* I happen to remember it later. I’m looking out the window right now, and there’s like 10 square miles of gopher cities. Insanity.

The drink lady & dude passed us a bit ago, and offered free drinks. Nice of ‘em. Then said we could buy a cookie, some nuts, or chips for the price of your firstborn. For real. $4 each. Those suckers better be plated in GOLD, or the size of a dinner plate if I’m buying a cookie for $4. Now some moron a few rows behind me traded his child for a sandwich, and that’s all I can smell. I don’t know what it is, but it smells like Schlotzky’s. He better *hope* I don’t have to go to the bathroom, or it will be on like Donkey Kong. I purposely haven’t eaten today, just so I wouldn’t have to relive the last experience I had flying to Vegas….3 Xanax and an hour in the bathroom later….and so the story goes.

I’m *so* gonna slap the kid behind me. He has to be about 15…reminds me of Quentin…and if it were Quentin sitting back there? I would’ve already smacked the back of his head. I swear he’s tapping and playing drums with boxes of NERDS. Sucka, I have NOT had enough medicine to take care of you yet. We’ll be landing in Vegas, and this kid’s gonna need *major* dental work, because I’m gonna his teeth out.

And now we just flew over something that resembled an Olympic-sized swimming pool. Or maybe two Olympic swimming pools. But instead of cement it looked like tar around the outside, and it was filled with dirt. Weird. Oh! Oh! Oh! And the Hoover Dam! And Lake Mead. I’m *so* impressed. I could probably enjoy the view better if not for the searing pain in my hand making my vision blurry (a bit of turbulence and Byron has a death grip).

So the next few days should be fun. Or interesting. Or both. Tonight we’re not doing anything planned, just ho-humming and watching the oddities on the street. I’ll be SO ready to eat by then. I want a near-alive filet mignon and some bread.

Friday will probably be the best day EVAH. We got tickets to the first ever UFC Fan Expo, coinciding with the 100th UFC Fight Night. There will be tons of vendors there giving crap away, and even more importantly, my main UFC Man, the one who will take me back to Canada to be his love slave, Mr. Georges St. Pierre will be there. Don’t think I haven’t already mapped his EXACT location in the building, because I have. He will be my first stop. If I can peel myself from his body at any point in time, there will be other awesome fighters there, and the Octagon Girls too. I’m taking a picture with each and every one of them to pin on my bathroom mirror to drive myself to workout. Or eat another cookie or 17 because I’m so happy I don’t have to be fit for a living. I also bought Byron, as his actual “present” for our anniversary, a 2-hour training session with Wanderlei “The Axe Murderer” Silva. Suck on that! Which reminds me, what is his actual “present” for me? I’m betting it’s the $100 to gamble with. Sucka. He better be glad I love him.

After that I’ll be home ‘til Sunday, and then head out again that afternoon to redeem myself ‘til Friday as a 7th Grade Church Camp Counselor. Pray for those kids, y’all.